


Unlovable

by NightTriumphant



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 09:49:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightTriumphant/pseuds/NightTriumphant
Summary: Bellamy was Murphy's saviour once, but perhaps now he is too broken to be saved. And after everything that happened, does he deserve to be saved at all?





	Unlovable

They beat him like a dog.

They kicked him, sent him rolling through the dirt, and hoisted him upright, just to punch and then kick him again. And again. And again.

Murphy knew he was going to die.

He knew it from the moment they landed the first punch. They were going to kill him. And he could do nothing to stop it.

He was innocent, of course. He hadn’t killed Wells, although now he wished he had so that he would at least die knowing he had revenged his father. But he hadn’t killed him and no one believed him.

They didn’t care. They wanted him dead, wanted to live that moment of barbarism and savagery pushing through the bounds of civilization, the moment of forgetting all consequences and becoming the primitive self they had all been taught to suppress.

They wanted to murder him. They wanted to watch him die and cheer death as it claimed him. Murphy, despite himself, understood. Understood the temptation of giving in to one’s deepest and darkest desires. And yet –

He screamed. Screamed and fought, trashing against the people restraining him. They pushed a gag in his mouth and punched him again, smashing the bones in his face. Pain greeted him, overwhelming in its intensity.

He cursed them all, cursed those bastards who had pretended to be his friends all this time and were now cheering at the violence, at his end.

They put a noose around his neck, put him on a box. Clarke Griffin, the  _bitch_ , was screaming, begging them to stop. No one cared, no one listened. They were all lost in the madness, high on the brutal process of murder.

And then, Bellamy Blake stepped forward, hissed something at Clarke and then marched closer until he stood right before him. The others waited, waited for Bellamy to give the final order.

Murphy had never despised him more. _Whatever the hell we want, right?_  Murphy wanted to spit in his face. _I hope you burn in hell_.

Bellamy looked at him, considering. Blood tickled down Murphy’s face, painting it red. Darkness threatened to claim him, oblivion so close Murphy could feel it, could almost taste the salvation. He had always been a survivor but now – now all he wanted to do was let go.

Then the order, “Get him down.”

The world went quiet. Everyone stared at Bellamy, disbelieving.

“Did you not hear me? I said get him down!”

This time, they obeyed. They removed the noose, put him on his feet. His knees buckled under the sudden weight and he fell into the dirt.

“Why do we spare him?” someone asked incredulously.

Murphy looked up and found Bellamy’s dark eyes on him, studying him.

“Because he didn’t do it”, was all he said and went back to his tent.

 

***

 

Walking was impossible. His rips ached with each movement, sending waves of pain through his entire body. Sleep darkened his vision, but he wouldn’t let it overwhelm him, not now, not here, outside the gates.

He crawled back to the tents.

He avoided the tent he shared with two other boys – boys who had tried to kill him just an hour before. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not with them next to him. So he sat outside, under the blanket of stars, and tried not to think about death – or the wrath burning deep within him, poisoning his mind with a vicious desire for revenge.

Someone walked passed him, stopped, turned around. Bellamy.

“Murphy?” he said.

Murphy straightened, even as a wave of pain shot through him. “What do you want?”

“What are you doing out here?”

“What are _you_ doing out here?”

“Taking a piss.”

“Charming”, Murphy said.

“You’re bleeding.”

“That’s to be expected when one is beaten half to death”, he replied bitterly.

“I see they didn’t break that smart mouth of yours. What a relief.” Bellamy smiled weakly, running a hand through his dark curls. He took a step towards Murphy and, before Murphy could say anything, put an arm around him and pulled him to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Murphy said. He would have pushed Bellamy off, but he wasn’t sure he had enough strength to stand on his own and he wouldn’t give Bellamy the satisfaction of seeing him fall on his ass.

“You can’t sleep here.” And with that, they walked to Bellamy’s tent. Or rather, Bellamy walked, pulling Murphy with him.

The tent was big, much bigger than Murphy’s. Bellamy helped him sit down on the bed of blankets. “Take off your shirt”, he ordered and turned around to get a cloth and some water.

Murphy tensed. “I’d rather not”, he said.

Bellamy looked at him, almost scolding. “You can barely stand. Your rips are bruised. I have to make sure they’re not broken.”

“I never knew you were a healer. Did the princess teach you a few tricks?”

“Take off your shirt”, was all Bellamy said and this time, Murphy obeyed.

There were bruises. In fact, his entire body was covered in various flecks of purple and blue and green. He hissed as Bellamy touched him and then palpated the bruised flesh.

“Stay still.”

 _Go float yourself_ , he wanted to say, but Bellamy touched a particularly sensitive spot and his voice drowned in a moan of pain.

Then, Bellamy washed off the blood. Murphy had never felt more humiliated than in this moment, with Bellamy cleaning him like he were a child, carefully moving the wet cloth over his broken face.

“I’ll have Clarke check on you again tomorrow”, Bellamy said.

“Why are you helping me?”

A pause.

“You didn’t kill Wells. I know you didn’t. They shouldn’t have beaten you up, it was wrong of me to even let it get this far.”

Murphy raised his chin. “You don’t need to feel obligated to take care of me.”

“I don't.”

“If you expect any thanks –“

“I don’t.”

Murphy nodded. He tried to stand up, but Bellamy pushed him back down. “Stop that”, he said, standing close enough that Murphy could feel the warmth of his body. “You’re too weak to stand.“

Murphy looked up. Even in the pale light Bellamy’s skin was sun-kissed and golden. Freckles covered his face. His hair looked soft; the rich dark colour swallowed the light like a shadow. Murphy drank in the sight, devoured the delicacy of his features.

“What?” Bellamy said and Murphy almost flinched, realising that he had been staring.

“What? Nothing”, he said, blushing. He wanted to get up again, but Bellamy stopped him, looked at him and apparently changed his mind.

“Stand up.”

“They say consistency is a virtue”, said Murphy, standing up carefully.

“They don’t”, said Bellamy.

Murphy was well aware of how close they were. Bellamy was taller than him, but all he would have to do was tilt his chin up, just a little, and their lips would touch.

Murphy later didn’t quite remember how it happened, but suddenly they were kissing. A brutal kiss, all tongue and teeth, singing with desperation and hunger. They broke the kiss. Bellamy’s eyes were clouded and he was panting. And then nothing else mattered.

“Bend over”, Bellamy ordered and Murphy obeyed without a second thought, leaning forward on the bed, resting on his elbows. Bellamy kicked his legs open and stood behind him. He practically tore the clothes off him, lowered his own trousers.

There was something arousing about this position, his submissiveness so clearly displayed. Bellamy pushed two fingers inside him, careful but determined, preparing him expertly. His manhood was in proud proportion to his body, standing hard and strong, but he was careful, gentle, even. It barely hurt. No, it felt good, and Murphy found himself struggling to keep in the sounds of pleasure burning in his throat.

What they did wasn’t love-making. It was shared breaths and deep thrusts and heartfelt grunts. They fucked. Bellamy fucked him. And when release overcame him, Bellamy thrust into him one last time, emptied himself inside and it was over.

They repeated this, every now and then, when they were desperate for a few hours of relief. But then there was war with the grounders and Mount Weather and A.L.I.E. and whatever it was they had, stopped.

 

***

 

Everything had changed.

Murphy could feel it, like a bitter taste in his mouth, when he stepped outside. A breeze kissed his face, stroking the bruised flesh.

Ontari was dead.

He had to remind himself, over and over again. Ontari was dead.

The thought didn’t fill him, as he had expected, with joy, but with an empty feeling in his soul. As though she had taken a part of him during those weeks he had shared her bed and had let it die with her.

Those weeks with her – he didn’t want to think about it. He felt a sort of filthiness that even the longest bath wouldn’t be able to wash away. Ontari had broken him. Bedding her had broken him.

He had asked her to stop, more than once. She would stop. And then she would get a whip and beat him with it, until every inch of his body ached in pain and the air was thick with the smell of blood – his blood. And then she would tie him to the bed, tear off his clothes and slap him in the face, first with her hand and then again with her whip, slashing through his already bruised skin, until he begged for mercy.

She had enjoyed hurting him. Sex seemed to pleasure her more when he was bloody and bruised, when she moaned in pleasure while he moaned in pain, melting into one sound of vulgar primitivity.

Sex had always worked. Despite the pain, the humiliation, the disgust – it had always worked. The perverse sensation of pleasure that came with his body’s betrayal and the disgust that came like waves with each thrust, drowning him – he would never forget it, never in his miserable, worthless life.

His pleasure was solely physical, of course. His mind had been a void, a place he would escape to as soon as it started. No arousal, no enjoyment. Just his body reacting to the movement of Ontari’s hips, the feeling of flesh against flesh, the friction of wet, aroused depth around his manhood.

But then, as soon as it was over came the self-hatred. The pain. The disgust. He wondered if that feeling was permanent, if Ontari had ruined him beyond repair, if this was to be his life from now on.

With Bellamy, despite his harsh orders and unloving gestures, he had always known that if he said no, Bellamy would stop immediately. Murphy had almost missed him. And he almost missed him now.

Emori was gone. He knew she had left and he was glad. She deserved a life that didn’t include him or this mess. He wanted her to be happy. And she never would be if she stayed with him.

He was alone again and for the first time solitude seemed more like a prison. A prison of nightmares and terrorising thoughts.

Murphy looked around. The city, it seemed, was just as broken as he was. The people of Polis had suffered, like he had. The rain had washed away most of the blood on the streets. There was only a small stream of red running through the alleys. People wept. Death thickened the air. The morning brought the realisation: Everything had changed. This was the beginning of a new life, a new world. Not everyone had made it.

Surviving had always been his priority, but now he wondered if the dead might be the lucky ones, if perhaps one had to pity the living, the ones who had to live in this place of destruction, who had to rebuild a world on these shattered grounds.

Murphy couldn’t look at it for a moment longer. He turned his back to the dead and the suffering and walked back into the high-rise.

 

***

 

The balcony had seemed like an escape from the people inside, but it quickly turned into a place of dark temptations. Murphy’s eyes were fixed on the distance, the city, the forest, and he tried to focus his attention on something, _anything_ , to distract himself from what went on inside his rotten mind.

He held on to the parapet so tightly it hurt his fingers. What was he going to do? What were you supposed to do when life showed you its worst?

He was a survivor. He had always been a survivor. But he was so tired.

“What are you doing out here?” someone said behind him.

 _That’s what they call a déjà vu_ , Murphy thought as he turned around.

“Bellamy”, he said.

Bellamy was watching him, his expression revealing no emotion. “I didn’t know where you went after –“ He stopped.

After Clarke had come back from the City of Light. After Murphy had let go of Ontari’s heart, pulled his hands out of her chest, covered in black blood, which dripped off his pale fingers, painting the stone.

“I had to get out of there”, he replied. He couldn’t look into Bellamy’s eyes, so he stared at the ground.

“Are you okay?” Bellamy sounded almost worried.

Murphy shrugged. He wasn’t, but he wouldn’t tell him. They weren’t friends, never had been.

Bellamy took at step towards him. Murphy tensed. He wanted to back away, but there was the parapet behind him, the cold stone pressing against his back. He was trapped.

“Murphy?” Bellamy reached out, wanted to touch his arm, but Murphy flinched violently, stumbling to the side to get away from his hand. He tried to cover it with a laugh, running his hand through his hair awkwardly.

 _God, you’re pathetic_ , he told himself. This was Bellamy, not her. Just Bellamy.

“Sure.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course.” He laughed again.

Bellamy frowned and Murphy's heartbeat quickened. _He knows_ , he thought, but of course that could not be right. How could he possibly know?

“We haven’t really talked in a while.”

“We never really talked much. We were always too busy doing something else.”

Bellamy laughed, and his expression lightened. Flirting always helped and Murphy was good with flirting.

“Oh, how I missed that smart mouth of yours”, Bellamy said, “Though at times I wish there was an off-switch.”

Something wicked flickered in Murphy’s eyes. "Why don’t you shut me up with your cock?“ he suggested. Yes, this would work – covering his emotions with crude language and sarcasm, as he had always done.

Bellamy took a step forward. Murphy held his breath as he brushed a knuckle across his cheek. “Perhaps I will.“

Murphy's entire body tensed, and he had to dig his fingernails into his palm to calm himself.

“How do you want me?” he asked. He could do this, act normal, make Bellamy think everything was normal and perhaps – perhaps things would be okay again. Even if it was just for a few hours.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves”, Bellamy said and pulled him close to kiss him. Murphy did not move as the other boy’s lips brushed his and he gently bit his lip.

 _Think of something else_ , he thought as he opened his mouth to invite Bellamy’s tongue.

Bellamy kissed him, unaware that Murphy did not kiss him back. Bellamy had always been the active partner in their encounters; perhaps his passiveness was nothing out of the ordinary after all. Or perhaps Bellamy did not care to notice, to listen to his body language, to ask for his consent –

 _No_ , Murphy thought. _Bellamy is different. You are being dramatic_.

He felt disconnected from his body, from the world around him, as Bellamy led him inside the building and to one of the bedrooms, where he pushed him onto the bed.

Murphy was thankful for the darkness that clouded the room. At least Bellamy could not see the frightened expression in his face or the way his fingers shook as he began to undress himself.

Mid movement he paused. He had forgotten his scars. Even if it was dark enough for Bellamy not to see it, he surely would be able to feel them.

“Go on, take it off”, said Bellamy.

Murphy looked down at his shirt. “It’s cold.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not”, Murphy spat and Bellamy took a step backwards.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I – I’m sorry. It’s just –” He had to take a deep breath before he could speak again. “My scars.”

“Scars?” Bellamy sat down on the bed next to Murphy.

“I’ve been through a lot and – well, I – I –“ He did not know what else to say so he just stopped.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. But you don’t have to show me, either. You can leave your shirt on, if it makes you feel more comfortable. Or I can leave, if that’s what you want me to do.”

“No. No, please stay. You’re right. I’m being silly. Just – just let me leave my shirt on, okay?”

“Of course.” Murphy hated the concern in his voice, but he knew he would only make it worse if he asked Bellamy to leave.

“Are you sure you want this?” Bellamy asked as he removed his last piece of clothing, standing over him for a moment, giving him a chance to admire his naked body. It almost made Murphy laugh.

“Yes”, he said. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he took off his underwear, threw it on the ground and turned around. “Make me feel something”, he whispered, more to himself than to Bellamy, who did not seem to hear him, anyway.

Yet Bellamy hesitated, perhaps confused at the lack of foreplay, but then leaned forward and began kissing Murphy’s neck. Murphy arched his back, pressing into Bellamy’s crotch. Something hard poked his thighs. One hand grabbed Murphy’s ass and a second later a finger was pushed inside him.

Murphy held his breath and buried his face in the pillows. It hurt more than it should. He was too tense, and he knew. But he could not calm himself.

“Murphy”, Bellamy groaned. “God, you’re so – _fuck_.”

Murphy pushed back into his fingers, trying to match Bellamy’s eagerness.

“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you and your –”

Murphy shut him up by reaching back and grabbing a hold of Bellamy’s erection. “Fuck me”, he said breathlessly.

He thought he could hear Bellamy smile. “As you wish.”

Bellamy spat onto his fingers and pushed them back inside him with scissoring movements as to prepare him. With his free hand he began masturbating himself, wetting his manhood with his own fluids.

For the first time Murphy wished Bellamy had a little less stamina so they could just finish like this – him presenting his ass obediently while Bellamy came all over him without ever having to touch his broken body. But all hopes vanished when Bellamy grabbed him by the hips and placed his cock at his entrance, gently pushing forward.

It didn’t work.

Murphy moaned in pain and Bellamy stopped. Once more he tried stretching him with his fingers and then entering him again.

“Murphy –”

“Shut up and fuck me already, will you?” Murphy said through gritted teeth.

“I want to. I want to – to fuck you. But I can’t if you don’t let me.”

“Don’t treat me like a fucking porcelain doll. Just put it in, for Christ’s sake.”

Bellamy sighed. He tried again, a little less gentle, but still careful not to hurt him. And then, with one precise thrust and a heartfelt groan, he buried himself inside Murphy.

Murphy’s heart thundered in his chest, so fast he couldn’t breathe. Bellamy leaned forward to kiss him again, his mouth close to his ear. It reminded Murphy too much of her, of all the gruesome things she would whisper in his ear as she rode him relentlessly.

His mind went wild, a storm of panicked thoughts rolling in, and he couldn’t breathe.

Panic dazed his vision. Murphy gripped the pillow tightly, forcing himself to calm down.

 _It’s not her_ , he told himself. _It’s not her_.

“God, yes. Fuck.”

 _It’s not her, it’s not her, it’s not her_.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _breathe_.

“Murphy. God, Murphy.”

“Bellamy”, he said in a voice that was too weak.

Bellamy thrust into him roughly and Murphy cried out. The pillow swallowed his voice. A hand grabbed his back, brushing over the scars hidden beneath the fabric.

Murphy felt as though he was drowning. He heard her laugh in the distance, the hysterical touch in her voice as she screamed at him, beat him, fucked him. Tears burned in his eyes. He gripped the pillow so hard it hurt in his bones.

“Bellamy”, he said, or did he really say it? He couldn’t hear his own voice over the blood roaring in his ears. Darkness threatened to claim him. He had to get Bellamy to stop.

He no longer knew what was real. There was her voice in his mind, and then there was Bellamy, grunting as he thrust into him, but the hands on his back felt like her hands, the pain of penetration to similar to the pain of the whip.

There was her voice, telling him how twisted he was for hardening inside her when he had been beaten just a moment before, and talking about the things she was going to do to him, to his friends, if he didn’t obey, if the sex wasn’t to her liking.

Murphy felt his throat closing up, felt the terror spread inside his body like poison, and he gripped onto the bed sheets, buried his face deeper in the pillow to calm himself, to stop the strangled sounds from escaping his lips.

A hand grabbed his ass, his back and Murphy cried out because suddenly everything hurt. Tension had spread inside his body, making every thrust, every movement of Bellamy inside of him painful and unbearable.

He had to get him to stop.

And then there was her voice again, memories and images, and the panic threatened to overwhelm him, to push him into an abyss, straight into oblivion.

“Bellamy”, he breathed.

Hot tears ran down his face and he bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

Blood.

The metallic taste, the smell, red stains on white sheets. Blood drying on his skin, waking up to the pain of wounds opening, thick scars on his back.

He kicked Bellamy off him, but when he spun around it was her face he was looking at, a sadistic grin on her lips, dark promises written in her eyes.

It was her.

Murphy screamed.

He screamed and then everything went black.

 

***

 

When he awoke he was sweaty, disoriented and in a tremendous amount pain that seemed to crawl through his entire body. He stared at Bellamy blankly, trying to remember what had happened. There were two bloody scratches on the other boy’s face and Murphy realised, horrified, that this must have been his doing.

“I’m sorry”, he choked out as a wave of humiliation hit him.

Bellamy blinked, confused. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I – what happened?” He looked as though he wanted to touch him but was unsure whether this was allowed.

“I don’t know. I just – I don’t know.” Murphy pulled his knees close to his body and lowered his head, hair falling into his face, hiding the tears that were still fresh on his skin.

Now Bellamy did reach out. Murphy didn’t so much see it than feel it, the soft sensation of fingertips brushing over the hairs on his arm and he flinched, falling back into the pillows.

Bellamy moved away immediately, but Murphy was hit by a new wave of panic. For a moment Murphy thought, or perhaps hoped, Bellamy would get up and leave him be, but then –

“What happened during those weeks in Polis?” Bellamy asked softly. “Why can’t I touch you?”

Murphy just shook his head, but Bellamy continued.

“What did they do to you? Why can’t I –” He reached out again, slowly, as though he were a frightened animal. “Why won’t you let me –“

“BECAUSE SHE RAPED ME”, Murphy shouted, so loud it made Bellamy flinch.

“Because she raped me”, he said again, choking on the words. “And I couldn’t stop it.”

He felt the tears burning in his eyes, felt his throat closing up and in pure terror of what had just happened, about what he had just revealed, he stumbled off the bed headed for the door. He had to get out of here. He had to get out of here immediately.

“Murphy, wait”, Bellamy said and Murphy wanted to strangle him for the gentle tone of his voice, the careful pronunciation of his name – and the pity. Oh _god_ , Bellamy pitied him. Despite everything he had done, Bellamy still felt sorry for him.

Murphy hated him for it. He wanted to see disgust in Bellamy’s eyes, wanted to see all of the emotions he felt in Bellamy’s face. And then he wanted Bellamy to punish him for what he had done. To hit him, hard, until the pain he felt deep in his soul was replaced by physical pain. Until he felt alive again.

“Murphy, please."

Tears ran down his face. Humiliated, he wiped them away. But he stayed.

Bellamy was standing close now, careful not to touch him. “I’m sorry”, he said, quietly. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Murphy said nothing.

“You don’t deserve it, you know that, right? You don’t deserve any of it.”

Murphy bit his lip, nodding softly. He knew he didn’t deserve it. But that didn’t change the fact that it had happened. And that he felt deep and vicious disgust for himself.

“It’s not your fault”, Bellamy said.

A sob tore through him, and he choked trying to swallow the sound. His very soul was aching. He wept, loud and uncontrolled. And he felt broken, so fucking broken. He almost wanted to die.

Murphy covered his face with his hands and surrendered to the pain, let it consume him entirely. The sobs shook his body, brutally, mercilessly, until his throat felt raw and he sunk to the ground, his knees too weak to carry his weight. He felt so broken, so broken it scared him, for he might never be able to fix himself, to ever be whole again.

“Murphy”, Bellamy said softly. “Murphy, please. What can I do?”

But Murphy could not answer. At this point, he was too far gone to even feel shame for his unbound expression of emotion. He simply let himself cry, let all the pain swallow him at once, while Bellamy stood there and watched.

Suddenly, this wasn’t just about the sex or Ontari. This was about Bellamy, about everything that had happened between them – Bellamy saving him, the sex, the hope that there might one day be more. The disappointment, the terrifying sadness when he realised that he was, once more, alone. That no one care about him after all and that his mother had been right all along. He was unworthy of anyone’s time and attention. He was unlovable.

“Why did you leave me?” he asked finally, when he had calmed himself a little. “After the war with the grounders, why did you never look for me?”

Hesitantly, Bellamy sat down on the ground next to him, careful to keep his distance. “I didn’t think you’d want me to”, he said with a sigh. “You were always so independent, so self-reliant. It never seemed like you needed me and I didn’t want to take you freedom.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Bellamy cocked his head to one side. “Oh come on. You know that you always put yourself first, that you sometimes care about no one but yourself, don’t think about anyone but yourself. And then there was Emori –”

“Fuck you”, Murphy said.

“What?”

“Fuck you. The fact that I might not be as selfless as you or your perfect little princess does not mean that you can use that as an excuse to not give a damn about me.” He turned to look at Bellamy. “I think about myself first because I want to survive. If I don’t care about myself, who will? If I don’t put myself first, who will?”

“I do. I will.”

“Then where were you?” Murphy spat as a spark of anger ignited inside him. “Where were you when the grounders tortured me? Or when they did it the second time? Where were you when I was trapped inside that fucking tower for weeks? When Titus trashed me? Where were you when that bitch beat me and when – when she _raped_ –“ His voice died in his throat.

“I didn’t know.”

Murphy wanted to scoff at that, but he felt so tired. Everything was too much. He needed some time to think, to sleep.

“I’m sorry”, Bellamy said. “I’m so sorry, but – I’m here now. I’m here now and I promise you that I will make sure something like this never happens to you again.” He raised his chin and looked Murphy straight in the eye. “I swear on my life, on my sister’s life, that from now on I will be there for you. Whenever you need me, I will be there.”

Murphy said nothing.

“I never listened to you and I’m sorry. I want to make it better, if you let me.”

All Murphy could do was nod. His throat was raw and it felt as though he might start crying again.

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t know what I want you to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just - I don’t know.”

“That’s alright”, Bellamy said. “You don’t have to know. But when you do, please tell me, okay? Please don’t shut me out, even if I deserve it.”

Murphy smiled weakly and nodded.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Bellamy asked and Murphy nodded again.

Bellamy got up. “I’ll be next door. Call me, if you need me.”

He walked towards the door but paused. Without turning around he said, “You are not unlovable. Quite the opposite. I know this might be unfair but – I thought I loved you, back at the camp. I was falling in love with you and it terrified me. This world we live in is a dark and terrifying place. No one is save. I fear for my sister’s life constantly and it’s exhausting. I couldn’t do that with you, too. I thought it would kill me to care that much. But now I realise that I was a coward. I was only thinking about myself. Sometimes caring about others is scary. But I’m not scared now. I care about you and I love you. You are my friend and if one day you want there to be more, I will be happy to give you that.”

Murphy didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted the tears on his lips. _I care about you and I love you_. He had needed someone to say this so badly for so many years and it felt so incredible that he did not know what to do other than to cry.

“Maybe I never will”, he said quietly. “Maybe I’ll never be able to give you what you need.”

_Maybe I’ll always be too broken to love you physically. Maybe I’ll never trust anyone enough to touch me._

Now Bellamy turned around again. “That is okay. I want you to be happy, to feel comfortable when you’re with me. It doesn’t have to be sexual or even romantic. It can be whatever we want it to be. Whatever you want it to be.”

“Even if that is friendship and nothing else?”

“Even then.”

Friendship with Bellamy was something he had never even considered. It had always been about sex between them, a relationship solely based on the physical. Murphy had never dared to imagine anything without it. Sex, he had thought, was what connected them. Anything else seemed absurd. How could Bellamy waste his time on him if he didn’t at least pay for it with sexual satisfaction? To be loved for his talented mouth or his skilled hands, yes, but for himself? It had never seemed possible.

“Who will you have sex with?”

Bellamy shrugged. “Nobody. Myself.”

There was another question on his mind and Bellamy must have noticed, for he waited patiently until Murphy had gathered the courage to speak. “Do you think I’m broken?”

“No”, Bellamy said without hesitation. “Never.”

Murphy looked down at his feet. “When I was with Ontari it always worked. I never – I was always –” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“That was only your body reacting. There’s nothing wrong with you. You are not broken. I will never, ever think that you are broken.”

Murphy nodded, lost in thought.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No”, he said. “Stay. Just don’t –“

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Thank you.”

Murphy crawled into bed, pulling the covers tight. He listened to the sound of Bellamy making himself comfortable on the couch and for some reason he found it calming.

Knowing that he was there, but on his terms. Knowing that Bellamy cared about him, that he loved him, even if it was hard to believe. Knowing that Bellamy was there and would not leave.

And for the moment that was enough.


End file.
